Ivory Lyre (14 page)

On the broad grass practice field, Sardira’s
soldiers drew back so the two riders had the flat meadow to
themselves. Teb showed Leskrank the special signals that he had
taught to Sardira’s soldiers, signals he and the dragons had agreed
on before they came to Dacia. Leskrank trotted Starpounder in
circles, galloped him, then began to practice the signals.

On command, Starpounder reared to strike as
in battle, spun so fast the heavy captain was nearly unseated,
ducked to right, then to left, under the attack of Teb’s own sword
in mock battle, spun again, backed, and, in a surprising launch of
inventiveness, in a maneuver they had not worked out together,
reared over Seastrider and snatched the blunt side of Teb’s blade
in his teeth and wheeled away bearing the weapon. Any other soldier
would have laughed with pleasure.

Leskrank’s expression did not change, except
that his eyes burned with the desire to own this beast.

“I am working on signals for that maneuver
and others,” Teb told Leskrank as they walked the horses back
toward the stables. “I will be happy to have you put the stallion
through his new paces, once they are perfected.” If we are here, he
thought. For now they had another reason to vanish quickly from the
palace, before the dark leaders tried to buy or steal the four
horses.

But Leskrank made no offer of purchase.
While Teb was sponging off the horses in the stable yard, the dark
captain went off toward the main hall with no offer, no word, no
change of expression. Teb squeezed out the sponge and looked after
him. Leskrank’s men followed him in silence, until at last Teb and
the four were alone.

He does not mean to buy us,
Seastrider said.
Why should he? I can see it in his face. He
means simply to take us. He means to teach his soldiers the
signals, then ride off on us when he returns to the dark continent.
He would make a bitter meal, but I would relish feeling him writhe
in my jaws.

Roasted first by dragon fire,
Starpounder said,
and even so, he would not be palatable. Of
course, he means to kill you, Tebriel, if you try to stop
him.

Teb smiled, imagining the four horses
turning suddenly to dragons and finishing off Leskrank and his
troops.

He will do nothing,
Seastrider said,
until he is sure he has learned all the signals and your methods
of training. Until he understands how to make us submit to his
will.
She shook her mane and snorted.
The unliving may
detest knowledge and skill, Tebriel. But when a skill is useful to
them, they mean to have it.

Teb stayed with the horses for some time,
stroking and grooming them, for the presence of the dark had left
them all edgy. Starpounder, having resisted his urge to kill the
un-man, was sweating and fidgeting now and could not settle.
Suddenly, as Teb brushed him, his body became translucent,
black-gleaming scales showing through. They all stood frozen as
Starpounder brought the force of the shape-shifting under control,
subsiding at last into the stallion’s satin curves.

Seastrider did not lose her image, but she
pawed and shook her head, and nipped at the flesh on her shoulder.
Teb did not know how much longer they dare stay here, with the
dragons’ patience wearing so thin.

We will conserve our power, Tebriel. We
will practice patience, all of us will,
Seastrider said,
glowering at Starpounder.

But it would not be long after the state
supper that night that Seastrider, too, found her powers changed,
and in a different way.

Teb didn’t look forward to supper. He
dressed carefully, swallowing his disgust at having to dine with
the unliving and their amoral followers.

Sometimes he thought he hated the human men
who served the dark more than he hated the unliving. The unliving
were patterned by their own unchangeable evil natures. They were
formed of evil and could not choose any other way.

Human men could choose. Sivich, who had
murdered his father, had had a choice. He had chosen deceit. He had
served the King of Auric for years before he turned on him, and on
Teb and Camery and the soldiers loyal to the king.

Teb descended the west tower and went along
through several huge rooms to the state dining hall, where the
royal party was standing before a windowed alcove, taking mithnon,
awaiting the entrance of the king. Accacia was robed in a clinging
apricot gown that complemented the yellow tunics of the dark
captains. All seven captains were there, all un-men. Their six
lieutenants were human men, but sallow and cold-looking. General
Vurbane, the last of the group of eight un-men, arrived with King
Sardira, who, robed in his perpetual black, a black velvet tunic
topped by a black fur cape, stood out sharply against the bright
colors. The king took only one glass of mithnon, then was seated in
his tall, black chair at the head of the table.

The purple-and-amethyst table setting was
set off with oil lamps that burned with violet flame, making the
faces of the eight leaders of the dark armies even more grayed and
deathlike. Their voices were dry and expressionless. Surrounded by
the eight unliving, Teb was gripped by a cold fear.

He had been too angry, at the stable, to try
a power of shielding against the un-man. Now he tried, with a
heated urgency, and felt the strength of the dragons helping him.
Leskrank had been the only one he faced at the stable. Now there
were eight of the unliving watching him, with time to observe him
carefully.

General Vurbane was seated directly across
from Teb, next to Abisha, close enough so Accacia, next to Teb,
could ply her charms on him. Teb found it strange to see an un-man
who had been badly wounded, for he thought of them as nearly
invulnerable. He knew they could die, though their blood did not
run red but pale like mucus, and if there was a dark inner self to
escape the dying body, it was not like a human soul. Yet even
having himself seen them injured and dying, he never got used to
it, so strongly did his mind cling to the idea of their invincible
power. Vurbane had suffered a wound that left the right side of his
face rippled in a wide scar from chin to hairline, ending in a
ragged bald spot. The tip of his smallest right finger was missing.
His eyes were icy, his lips thin and straight.

Captain Leskrank was seated across the table
to Teb’s left, where he could watch Teb and could flirt with
Accacia. She played round robin with all the men near her, ignoring
Abisha and the few women seated close by. She excited rivalry
skillfully, thriving on it. General Vurbane seemed well aware of
her style, accepting her favors as if he had a right to them.
Abisha watched the two of them, visibly irritated. He had been
drinking heavily, and soon his sullen voice rose above the rest,
sarcastic and baiting.

“I understand, General, you unearthed a spy
in your palace. I am told the girl escaped you.”

Vurbane glowered, his scarred face drawn
tight.

“She must have been clever,” Abisha said
smugly, “to have eluded all your fine soldiers.”

As Vurbane turned, his scar reflected the
lavender light, casting his face into a mask of horror that chilled
Teb. ‘The girl was clever, I suppose, for her kind. A mere accident
that she escaped. We will find her.”

“A pity, though. Had she served you
long?”

“She served my household for two years,”
Vurbane said stiffly. “She seemed a docile creature, but who knows,
with humans.” He looked Abisha over, seeming to warm to his
subject. “The girl was extremely young. One of those pale, blond
types . . . tall and well turned out,” he said, leering.
“But she was, like all humans, sly and tricky.”

Abisha reddened. Vurbane continued, “She was
seen clearly talking to a known spy in the marketplace. Their
conversation was reported; guards were sent at once to arrest
her.”

“But she escaped them all,” Abisha said,
ignoring Vurbane’s insults.

Vurbane looked at him coldly, the purple
light flaring along the side of his face. “My troops are quite
competent, Prince Abisha. It was a wild fluke that she
escaped—disappeared before they arrived.”

Abisha signaled for more wine and sat back
heavily in his chair, observing Vurbane. “Maybe someone warned
her—another spy. You are right, General Vurbane, such people are
. . . a menace.”

Vurbane’s words echoed in Teb’s mind,
One
of those pale, blond types . . . young
. . .

“We do not know,” Vurbane said, “how the
girl was warned—
if
she was. But we will find out,” he said
coldly. “There was a wild story about some huge owl swooping down
over the market moments before the troops arrived. My slow-witted
peasants believed it alerted her—laughable, what the ignorant
believe.”

Teb ate slowly, tasting nothing. Could it be
Camery? Pale, blond . . . young. . . and on the
island where Nightraider had sensed someone. And the
owl . . .

It was the big owl, Red Unat, who had
brought word that Camery was gone from the prison tower in Auric.
Red Unat worked with the resistance, had given his whole commitment
to tracking the dark. Teb’s thoughts were cut short by
Nightraider’s silent voice.

She is my bard. I still do not sense her,
but if she is there—I will search Ekthuma for her.

Teb sensed the cold wind as the black dragon
leaped skyward.

I will search for
her. . . .

Nightraider was gone.

“We closed off the five crossings,” Vurbane
was saying, “and kept watch for several days. We turned out the
cottages and shacks, searched thoroughly, but no sign of the
wench.” Vurbane touched his scar. “She could not have escaped
Ekthuma, unless she swam to her death in the sea.

“Very likely,” he said, smiling, “she took
her own life in one way or another. Her kind will do that.” His
eyes gleamed. “We will find her body eventually. Unless the sharks
ate her.”

His purple-tinged smile and glinting eyes
sickened Teb.

“Suicide,” Vurbane said, tasting the word,
savoring it. “It is interesting to watch suicide. It sometimes has
amusing results. Such panic, such commitment and dedication,
to—what? Why do they fight so hard, these dedicated peasants? There
was a crone, a rag woman on Cayub who threw herself into the sea
when my troops overtook her, impaled herself on a spiked rock and
lived three days gasping for help. The troops waited to see her
die.” He licked his lips. “Then that tin vendor that set himself
afire—and afforded my soldiers an unexpected and interesting
entertainment. Unfortunately, I missed it. There are too few such
diversions,” he said pleasantly, “in these dull times. That is why,
my dear Sardira, we like so much to make these refreshing visits to
Dacia. Now tell me, what is the nature of the contestants for
tomorrow’s stadium games? And what nature of . . . other
entertainment have you provided? We have been limited in our
pleasures far too long, training on that cursed rock island off
Ocana, at the ends of nowhere.”

“We have some new young slaves,” King
Sardira said. “Boys
and
girls.” His robed figure in the huge
carved chair was a pool of blackness at the head of the table. His
thin lined face seemed now, in comparison with the gray pallor of
the eight unliving, really very healthy and alive. His suggestion
of the use of boys and girls disgusted Teb.

“There are a few horses ready to be put
down,” the king said. “We might bring out some of my guard lizards
from the vaults; their teeth are excellently sharp. We have the
blind wolves you shipped to us from Aquervell, of course. Ah, and
we have captured some of those cursed speaking cats, my dear
Vurbane. They’re fighters, all right, and should make good sport,
pitted against anything of your choice. Too bad we don’t have your
little escapee to run in with them. We will drug the bulls with
cadacus; it makes them crazy. They will make excellent sport with
those cats clawing in panic for their lives.”

Teb listened with revulsion. The capture of
any animal tore him with rage, but that speaking animals would be
tortured made his fury rise so it was all he could do not to leap
up and beat the king to a pulp. He held himself rigid until his
temper eased under control.

He meant to release those cats.

Yet he could sacrifice much if he failed. He
was very close now to learning something that could be vital. He
must find the source of bright magic in the locked treasure
chamber. He must not be captured before he did.

He felt sure Accacia knew what that magic
was, and when supper was at last finished, he maneuvered her away
while the officers were rising and Vurbane had gone up to speak
privately with the king. He gave Accacia a smile. “Will you show me
a little more of the palace before you join the general and his
captains?”

She glanced toward Vurbane, saw him and the
king deep in conversation, then took Teb’s arm. “Perhaps a short
walk, Prince Tebmund.”

She led him up a side stair to an upper
landing that overlooked the dining hall, then out along the parapet
as before, but in the opposite direction. They descended a second,
winding flight. “There are terraces here, Prince Tebmund, between
the chambers and the wall of the mountain. I have a favorite.”

They came to a gate of iron wrought into the
shapes of branches and leaves, then into the closed terrace it
sheltered, a small, dark garden lit by seven candle lamps, walled
by the mountain at the back and planted with damp ferns and
twisting vines. It was chill and dismal, with only a thin view of
the stars. The palace wall that edged the garden was black stone,
carved into pierced patterns. There was no sense of either good or
evil, only of isolation. She pulled him down onto the black bench,
brushing a leaf away.

“This is pleasant, Prince Tebmund.” Her eyes
were warm, soft, in the candlelight. “I find you very compatible—to
walk with, to be with. Far more so,” she said, “than even General
Vurbane.”